


Smooth as Chunky Peanut Butter

by ghostl0rd (orphan_account)



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Awkward Crush, Bad Flirting, Bisexual Character, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Humor, M/M, One Shot, Pre-Slash, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-13
Updated: 2018-02-13
Packaged: 2019-03-15 18:07:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13618809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/ghostl0rd
Summary: Five Times Nyx flirted terribly with the new medic and the one time the medic did his job for him.Nyx/Pelna. Alternate Reality.





	Smooth as Chunky Peanut Butter

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hine/gifts).



i.

The new medic arrives at the Succarpe encampment a week after his predecessor is reassigned to the back; 'reassigned' being Drautos-speak for 'I caught Yet. Another. fucker with their hand in the morphine jar but we're too understaffed and too close to victory for me to comfortably give them the boot so I'm putting them somewhere they can keep their nose clean and continue to help keep us alive until this whole war thing blows over and you can all go to hell because I'm fucking the Head of the Crownsguard so if you want to 'Investigate' me feel free to get in line'.

Alright; maybe not in those exact words since Drautos and Cor are discrete about the affair. 

Tredd correctly asserts the only real reason Nyx is bitching about the Captain's proclivities at tonight's post-op victory drinks is because Drautos excused himself ten minutes ago to 'see a man about a chocobo' and Nyx is just jealous he isn't getting any, and annoyed he won’t be getting any from _him_.

Nyx correctly asserts, that he is too plastered to word a dignified response that doesn't incriminate him, but also grossly, _horribly_ , misjudges the distance between the seat of his barstool and the floor when he tries to saunter out and back to the encampment. Next thing he knows, the ground's rushing gleefully up to meet him—

—someone intercepts.

Nyx's first thought is it's either Libertus or Crowe, because it sure as hell can't be Tredd, since that vindictive ginger's already focused on charming the pants off the cute bartender. It takes Nyx a few seconds to process that Libertus is a few inches taller than him, and Crowe is more slender than leanly muscular, and neither have  _ever_  smelt like tea tree and basil and hospital-grade disinfectant. When he glances up he spots them across the bar sharing a table with Luche over the stranger's shoulder, all three staring right back in varying degrees of  _Nyx, what the fuck_. The stranger helps him upright, and Nyx re-evaluates as he steps back thinking: not someone, but an astral come down from heaven: incandescent lighting painting a soft halo atop an even softer-looking mop of slightly curly hair that he wants nothing more than to card his fingers through. He's not very religious though his mama tried, but Bahamut's fine feathered ass he'd be happy to take him home and indulge in all kinds of worship if that's what it takes to make him a believer again.

Somehow, Nyx suspects, from the way the guy's expression shifts from Are You Alright to What The Ever-loving Fuck -- that he'd said that aloud.

Then, as if to outdo himself, Nyx goes one better: lurches forward and vomits all over the guy's shoes.

"Dragons don't have feathers." The guy mutters, catching Nyx again.

Nyx is returned to the care of Crowe who warped over as soon as she could, looking quite ready to disown and disembowel him, but still mulling on the order.  Introductions are exchanged, though Nyx hears and retains none of it, already fast asleep with a delirious smile on his face.

Feathers are _not at all_ becoming on the Draconian's person.

 

* * *

 

 ii.

The next time they meet, Nyx is flat on his back and babbling incoherently, covered head to toe in the stomach lining and bits of large intestine of the bandersnatch he'd just cut himself out of--which is the equivalent of trying to swim laps in lighter fluid, 'so he's effectively poisoned himself,' the medic tells Libertus. He's professional as he administers the antidote but is incredulous that someone, especially one of His Majesty's Kingsglaive would ever think warping headfirst into its gaping mouth could be a good idea. Libertus condenses that fifteen minute epic brush with death into a five minute soliloquy that is the equivalent of an almost apologetic 'yes, he really  _is_  that stupid' and entrusts Nyx to his care right as Nyx passes out.

. . . 

The medic is at Nyx's side in an instant when he groans back to life four hours later, and if he wasn't still a bit woozy from the after-effects of unwittingly ingesting bandersnatch blood, he'd swear the distorted space above the crate the guy had been sitting on four feet away was a _warp scar_ and not just his blurred vision.  
  
The medic helps Nyx sit up, fingers pleasantly cool through the latex gloves against Nyx's temple while he holds him in place and flashes a penlight in his eyes. Even through the slight ache in the back of his head, and the disorienting temporary blindness Nyx _still_ scrounges enough brain cells together to think,  _hellooo gorgeous._

"Still a little dilated, but you'll be back to normal by tomorrow." Gorgeous says, pocketing the penlight. 

Nyx doesn't have enough time to surreptitiously read the dog tags hanging loosely over the guy's tee before he leaves to sift through a large first-aid kit opened on a table nearby. Nyx watches him pause, comparing two tiny white pill bottles before he sets one back into the kit, returning with the other. 

"How's your head?"

He's either psychic or he's probably experienced the exact thing Nyx is, because there's an intriguing faded scar stretching from his right lower bicep to his upper forearm, and Nyx's got nothing but time to learn that story...and perhaps even the lithely muscular body it's attached to--

Six, he really,  _seriously_  needs to get laid. 

 _Although_...he didn't spot a wedding ring so maybe there's hope—

The guy clears his throat, in such a lengthy and convoluted way that suggests Nyx is staring. Again. He's noticed he's being doing a lot of that lately—well, _Libertus_ has, whenever they pass the aid station, and usually elbows him back to life—but the urge is a lot harder to fight when those lovely brown eyes are so up close and personal.

"Hurts a little bit," Nyx admits with a smile, heart aflutter in his chest. "But probably not as much as yours did when you fell from heaven." He adds, because the poison apparently broke the filter between his mouth and brain.

_Six, that was horrendous, what the fuck._

_Except_ —

There's a flicker of a smile—Nyx is  _sure_  there is, but it fizzes out when the medic closes his eyes, inhaling deep. Exhales through his nostrils the way Drautos does when he's just about to go off at him for breaking protocol, but there's no lecture when the guy opens his eyes again; only lengthy, judgmental silence which is probably just as bad, if not worse.  The guy doesn't look at him as he holds the pill bottle out, red all the way to his ears.

"Um. Take two every six hours.  For your head."

Nyx takes the proffered bottle of painkillers and quietly sees himself out, face beet-red because _that was the worst fucking thing I've ever said_ , but astrals if the embarrassed smile on the medic's face doesn't make it  _so fucking worth it_.

 

* * *

 

 iii.

The medic—okay, _the_   _hot_   _one_ , since apparently there's _two_ in their unit; a fact Nyx didn't concern himself with until Crowe hisses _'there's always been two, dickwad'_ during the briefing—joins their three-person squad to collect some crucial ingredients to make malboro anti-venom. Drautos says it was _Khara's_ —always the last name basis with these authority-types—idea that it would prove useful when they eventually fight their way up to the imperial stronghold.

"Niflheim's always had a long history of breeding creatures specifically for war and the malboro's always been top-shelf--more or less.  Be easier to storm Gralea if people aren't busy being confused, beserked, cursed and poisoned by Bad Breath."  Khara explains, without getting puffed out during the hike, and that sound reasoning coupled with the fact that his voice is a gentle timbre Nyx could listen to _all day_ makes him a little less irate at being dragged out of his tent so hellishly early in the morning.  He's a soul who appreciates beauty in all its forms and intelligence has always been top of the list. 

Top-shelf, as it were.

_Kind of like you, Khara._

"Um. _Thanks_?" Khara goes, rubbing the back of his neck as he walks that much faster—borderline  _jogs_ —ahead of their group, electing to take point for the rest of the mission.

Crap. 

Crowe pats Nyx consolingly on the arm, then leaves him alone to wallow in misery as she jogs to catch up.

"Hey, smarty-pants! Let's be friends!"

* * *

 iv.

Being this deep in enemy territory they're ambushed, naturally, when they try to detour past a waterfall on their way back during Day 3 of Operation: Malboro.  Nyx knows when the shooting starts to be grateful they've got a fully-fledged black mage on their side to help even the odds.  Medics are only taught the bare minimum defensive spells and manoeuvres to survive, so they're at the worst of times a potential blind spot when trying to strategize.  Not that he's blaming Khara for it; the guy's priority is keeping people alive, after all. It's he and Crowe's job to do the other thing.

It’s the same train of thought Loqi has when he has Nyx pinned behind a downed Niflheim dropship, taking heavy fire from his MA-IX Gauntlet.  The rest of the MTs have fanned out through the mud as per Loqi's orders, combing it for Khara, who got separated from them when their tin hides started raining from the sky. Nyx knows he could take out the MA if he didn't have this huge fucking hole in his leg, and the small detail of Crowe being trapped in a magic-dispelling cage attached to the MA's hull… 

Nyx isn't sure if it's the blood loss making him hallucinate, but he's certain he just saw a whole sprint of coeurl rush past his hiding spot, tentacles glowing electric blue and chuffing dangerously as they enter the fray.  

"I need him alive, you hear me tin fucks?” Loqi barks.  “All working limbs _still attached_ and a _pulse._ Every tragedy needs a survivor to tell the--"

Loqi's monologue is cut off by static and screaming--all of it Loqi's.  The gunfire eases away from Nyx's hiding spot; scatters in every possible direction as it engages the new enemy.  

Nyx covers his ears, wincing when shock-waves from a synchronised  electromagnetic pulse reverberate through the entire swamp. Following that is a high-pitched  _squeak_  of metal and years of Niflheim Research & Development just being _torn the fuck apart_ like paper through a shredder.  He feels a sudden wave of nationalistic pride wash over him, because if ever there was a time to be proud of the creature gracing the Galahd coat of arms, it's  _now._

_Poetic justice._

"DON'T YOU FUCKING DARE--"

 ** _"WARNING: HULL BREACH.”_** The MA's computer advises clinically. **"WALLBREAKER OFFLINE. REBOOTING IN 3, 2 --"**

Khara appears in front of Nyx. 

No,  _literally--_ out of nowhere. 

He kneels at Nyx's side and helps him to lie down, all business as he cuts open Nyx's boot and left pant leg up a little past his knee with a knife, peeling the material away delicately so he can assess the wound better.  

"Hi, sorry I'm late." He says, almost like an afterthought, glowing green light emanating from his hand as it starts sewing up the wound. "One would _think_ the Niffs would have moved past using chromium-based alloys, but I guess we'll keep that to ourselves huh..." 

"Er.  _Hi_." Nyx answers, eyes fixated on the twinkling shards of crystal dust above Khara's shoulder for a few seconds and then back to him. "You...you just...you warp? Can warp, I mean _."_

Khara chuckles, faintly amused as he nods.  

Nyx tilts his head at him, eyeing him shrewdly even if his heart skips a beat at the sound.  " _How_?"  

"Amicitias get bored on the road, so a few things get beaten into your head around the campfire at some point." Khara replies, meeting Nyx’s eyes briefly, smile sheepish, like he's just realized he's said too much. He clears his throat and returns focus to the task at hand.  "Sorry, I'm not _really_ at liberty to discuss--and it's not as glamorous as it sounds:  _two_ sets of dad jokes to listen to, just _incessantly_ day in and day out.  I was so relieved when I heard they were getting rid of me but there was this whole suspicious thing with _paperwork_ and I just _know_ Clarus had a hand in it..."

Astrals what a _chatterbox._ Usually he hate _hates_ chatterboxes because he's got Tredd as a frame of reference but Khara's  _talking to him_ after so many weeks of 'uh yeah, you're good to go, here's some painkillers'.  Maybe he's rambling because he's nervous, but as far as Nyx is concerned Khara's got the kind of voice that could read something so inane as the nutritional content of a chocolate bar and still manage to sound sexy.

Gods he's in deep.

Nyx smiles through the lessening pain, hyper aware that he's staring-- _gazing_ \--admiringly at Pelna, and not caring in the least about it.  He can always chalk it up to extreme blood-loss if anyone tries to tease him about it later anyway. It's their first proper conversation but he swears he's already halfway to falling in love with his own personal guardian carbuncle; and maybe _a little hard_ at the prospect of it, and grateful that no one will be able to tell under all these layers of Kevlar. 

"I'm Nyx." Nyx says, the moment he finds an opening.

Khara pauses, in the middle of explaining tensile strength and the bite force of an alpha coeurl and glances oddly at him, and then to the hand Nyx has extended out.

" _Officially._ " Nyx adds. "It's nice to meet you. Uh. _Sober_ ," he adds with a nervous laugh and _then_ Khara gets it.  Not that delirious is a particularly high step from inebriated, but Pelna's smiling, so.

"I'm--" Pelna starts.

"WHO'S THE TIN FUCK NOW, BITCH!" Crowe hollers.  

"I’m...gonna go see if she needs help." Khara laughs, and after he goes, Nyx spends a few seconds lying on the forest floor in a daze, his heart  _finally_ stuttering back to life thinking,

_Gods I want to hear that again._

* * *

 v.

Nyx has been a glaive long enough that he's no stranger to common injuries sustained in the line of duty, but he also knows he's been a glaive long enough that _he should be_. It makes sense for Libertus and Luche to rip in to him for his excessive visits to the aid station. Nyx doesn't care, _usually_ , but tonight marks exactly two months since the malboro op _and_ Khara's subsequent disappearance and he's _especially_ not in the mood to hear it, because he's still trying to get his head around what happened.

And _what happened_ was the Captain had requested for Khara to hang back after the debrief, and one could only assume the worst ten minutes later at the somber way both parties finally exited his tent; Axis driving over in a van a minute later to escort Khara to some unspecified location.

...that no amount of shift swap bribery from Nyx or thinly-veiled threats from Crowe could convince Axis to divulge otherwise.

Still; the glaive remains an elite unit, and an _observant_ one at that, so it doesn't take long for the word 'reassigned' to buzz around camp like a mosquito Nyx can't quite swat or ignore. Over at the bar Axis remains silent and staring into his beer glass, giving neither confirmation nor denial away while Tredd cycles through an unending list of possible reasons for Khara's absence that range from mildly implausible to downright ridiculous.

"It makes no sense," Nyx mutters. 'What doesn't?" Libertus asks, but he ignores him.  Libertus is used to his moods at this point in their lives that he doesn't take it personally.  Four!drink Libertus has always been a lot more on the easy-going side, anyway.

Which is more than can be said for six!drink Luche, presently glaring at him over his glass of lager across their table.  They've all entertained the thought that Aldercapt got to Luche during the Galahd massacre and that he's really an MT masquerading as a human, because the guy drinks like he's got Leviathan's liver or something.

"Talk already."

"Nothing to talk about." Nyx grouses. 

He's always prided himself on being a good judge of character--bar that one time he and Tredd hooked up following an overly competitive sparring match -- and Khara just didn't seem like the type to abuse military resources. He'd been on the king's protection detail for fuck's sake. 

(That last part Nyx managed to confirm from Drautos before he got booted from the war tent.)

Crowe's the only one who really understands--or at least; the only one nice enough to ply him with alcohol so that he can pass out later.  She's a romantic at heart despite the tough exterior and she thinks it's cute watching him fall over himself trying to impress the new kid.  Well,  _former_ new kid.  Nyx can't remember what number he is now, but he still feels entirely too sober for the current conversation so he accepts whatever she poison gives him and downs it without complaint.  

(He's pretty sure it's nail polish remover, though.)

"All this reckless behavior it's not...alright; it _is_ you; it's just _not like you_ to be more _blatant_  than you _usually_ are about it." Luche says, narrowing a glare that says 'Seriously?' at Crowe, because he wants this lecture to get through Nyx's thick skull and she's derailing every effort he's putting into staying patient about it.

"Ugh, shut up and leave him alone already, he  _gets it_." 

Tredd appears to have finally given up on Axis or gotten an answer he wanted, because he kisses the latter firmly atop his head then saunters over with a stool, inserting himself into the conversation. 

"Okay okay, hit Pause on whatever excuse for a fuckin' intervention this is supposed to be and _listen_ , because I have some wonderful news lady and gents."

"You talked to Axis," Luche says. 

"I did." 

"Well?" Luche snaps. "What've we got?"

"Well the good news is Axis _does_ like boys so me and him are going to play pin the tail on the mesminir later on tonight in his tent if there's any voyeurs present--ow!" Tredd goes, after Crowe slaps him upside the back of the head.  Everyone else rolls their eyes.

 

"Could you be _any_ more of a stereotype?" Libertus sighs.  Tredd just grins, because the answer to that is _yes_ , because he loves challenges, and drapes an arm over Nyx,  _because solidarity_.

"It's all about luring folks into a false sense of security and then--" Tredd starts.

" _Tredd_!" Luche says. 

"Ugh, _what_?"

"Shut the fuck up. Tell us what Axis told you." 

"Oh!" Tredd laughs, slapping himself in the forehead.  "Yeah Khara really is being reassigned.  Always the quiet ones, huh."

 _Time for shots,_ Nyx decides, shrugging off Tredd's arm and pushing himself away from the table. 

. . .

At some point (most likely 3AM), he  staggers out alone in the darkness, making a beeline for the aid station because it's weird that the light is still on at this hour--he knows that Jessie-- _forgot her last name_ \-- usually conks out at midnight at the latest, even with the added strain of being a man short.  

Only, it's not Jessie tinkering around in the lab, watching blue liquid come to a roiling boil atop of a bunsen burner, and that's definitely not Jessie's ass in those fatigues. He hasn't seen it in months, but he'd recognize that ass _anywhere_ and astrals if he isn't glad to see it, and glad for the five jaegarbombs running through his bloodstream giving him liquid courage.

"Fancy meeting you h--fuck!" Nyx goes, when the tower of crates he attempts to lean casually against turn out to be empty. 

Khara laughs hard enough to nearly piss himself the moment he realizes who just barged in, that it takes him three, maybe four minutes before he finally recovers enough to help him up. 

"I say this with all the respect in the world," he says when he finally tucks him into bed later on, "you need to get your shit together."

"But then I wouldn't have an excuse to buy you a drink as thanks." Nyx tells him with a wink. 

He's so glad Khara's a good enough sport to just roll his eyes and chuckle on his way out.

* * *

+1

Turns out, Khara really is being reassigned, but as a full-fledged glaive,  no longer limited by the 'medic' title. Nyx doesn't know the details, just that the last two months had apparently been a trial run of sorts to see if he had the stamina and motivation to make the cut. Nyx is elated when the announcement is made during the daily brief, and _just can't_ help himself when he nudges Khara afterward and goes, 

"Are you a chocobo? Because you're _eggs_ actly what we're looking for."

"Well I'd consider myself more an egg, because I'm looking to get laid." Khara replies, without missing a beat, and Nyx loses rhythm, stumbles two steps forward before he whips around and stares. 

Khara just smiles and sticks out his hand. Nyx shakes it. 

"Pelna.  In case you wanted a name to scream later on." 

He winks and is gone, reappearing at the aid station to help Jessie and his replacement move some boxes, while Nyx stares, trying to pick up his jaw off the ground.  

Crowe, who was witness to the whole thing lets out a sigh.

"Yeah...he's been wanting to get back at you for a while now. Only, as a medic it would have been ' _inappropriate_ '.  Doctor-Patient ethos, stickler for that sort of thing. Now that he's one of _us_..."

"All bets are off." Nyx finishes with a grin. 

Pelna's a really nice name, actually.

**Author's Note:**

> my dissertation on [pelna khara and nyx ulric](https://ghostl0rd.tumblr.com/post/177652924690/pelna-khara-a-writers-cheat-sheet)


End file.
